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POEMS 


BY 

FRANCES LOUISA BUSHNELL 

W 



PRIVATELY PRINTED 

1900 




THt 






NOTE 


Through the courtesy of The Century Co., 
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Messrs. 
Charles Scribner’s Sons and The Indepen¬ 
dent, these fugitive poems, originally pub¬ 
lished in their respective magazines, can 
now be offered to the friends of my sister, 
Frances Louisa Bushnell. M. B. C. 






















































CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Frances Louisa Bushnell 

• 




V 

i World Music . 

. . 




, 

ii Changed . 

, . 




3 

hi In the Dark . 

. . 




5 

iv Unfulfillment 

. 




7 

v Out of Season 

. . 




8 

vi Out of the Old, the 

New 




IO 

vii The Mountain’s Meadow . 




11 

viii Outside 





1 3 

ix Midsummer 





16 

x Once Upon a Time 





18 

xi The Child’s Star . 





20 

xn The Year’s Colors 





22 

xiii Absence 





2 4 

xiv Peace as a River . 





26 

xv The Pilgrim’s Revery 





2 9 

xvi Twilight 





3 i 

xvii The Rift of Gold 





33 

xviii New Year’s Eve . 





34 

xix Margaret 





36 

xx Without a Word 





40 

xxi In Disguise 





4 2 


iii 








PAGE 


xxii The Gain of Loss.44 

xxiii The New Day.46 

xxiv Two in One : 

I Vesper.48 

II Reveille.49 

xxv The Night Blossom.50 

xxvi A May Song .51 

xxvii Homeward.52 

xxviii Spring in the Heart.54 

xxix June .56 

xxx Autumn Voices : 

1 The Little Maid’s Song . . . 57 

11 Late Days.59 

xxxi The Year’s Goal.61 

xxxii The Watcher’s Carol .... 63 

xxxiii From Morn to Eve, A Child’s Hymn . 65 

xxxiv The Shadow 66 

xxxv Hidden Joy.68 

xxxvi Relenting.69 

xxxvii Two Songs, trans. from Heinrich Heine 71 
xxxviii The Christmas Door.73 

xxxix Horizons.75 

xl The Golden Prime.77 

xli Delay.79 

xlii A Surmise.80 


IV 







FRANCES LOUISA BUSHNELL 


T HIS collection of the occasional poems of Frances 
Louisa Bushnell gives the fitting opportunity for a 
word upon the character and work of one who was long 
prominent in the intellectual and social life of Hartford. 
The place she occupied cannot be filled, but while to 
those who knew her well her loss is irreparable, her 
memory will always have in it something of inspiration. 

Miss Bushnell had intellectual capacities, which would 
have given her a considerable place in literature if her 
ambition had equalled her ability, but she shrank from 
notoriety and seemed quite content to exercise her wit 
and her singular powers in the immediate circle in which 
she was thrown. She was a true poet; she wrote, or at 
least published, a very small amount of verse, yet this 
was of a pure and high quality. She had the delicacy of 
fancy and the sudden gleam of imaginative insight into 
the world about her that, if exercised to any extent, 
would have given her a high position among poets. 
From her father she inherited great verbal facility; words 
to him were things so vital that they were able to express 
the most subtle thought, and this power of expression, 
which is rare and goes only with the power of thinking 
clearly, always characterized Miss Bushnell’s language, 
spoken or written. It was an intellectual gift with Dr. 


v 


Bushnell, and perhaps to a lesser degree with his daugh¬ 
ter, but it seemed to have a spiritual quality besides. 

She not only resembled her father in this respect, but 
also in the fact that she was accustomed to think for her¬ 
self. One meets only now and then one whose opinion 
on any book or person or event excites any interest, for 
the reason that the opinion is usually borrowed from 
somebody else, and in these days commonly from the 
newspapers. Miss Bushnell thought out things for her¬ 
self, and consequently whatever she said had the merit 
of originality and individuality; and, after all, whatever 
of value anyone’s talk or writing has, apart from its being 
a matter of information, depends upon the personal 
quality. 

Another trait of Miss Bushnell was her quickness of 
mind. I have known but two or three other persons 
whose mental process was so rapid, whose perceptions 
were so keen, and whose power of assimilation was so 
ready. In conversation she seemed to apprehend what 
her companion was expressing by a sort of intuition, and 
to grasp the whole before the sentence was finished, so 
that her reply always came with lightning-like rapidity. 
This gave her tremendous power of repartee, and a direct¬ 
ness and finish to her wit that was very remarkable. Miss 
Bushnell also had a very just mind. I speak of this 
rather as an intellectual than a moral quality, for it made 
her see things as they are, and real perspicacity is just¬ 
ness. Added to this purely intellectual quality she had 
also the sympathetic gift of humor, developed rather 
highly in the direction of ability to see the incongruous 
and ridiculous side of things; a power which gave great 
keenness to her remarks, but always ended in merriment 


vi 


rather than in ridicule. This means to say that her criti¬ 
cal faculty was highly developed. She had high stan¬ 
dards in literature as well as elsewhere, was exceedingly 
fastidious in her tastes, and this may partially account for 
the fact that she wrote so little poetry, for she would be 
her own severest critic in this way. 

In Dr. Bushnell the notable quality was the union of 
intellectual and spiritual perception. This Miss Bush¬ 
nell inherited, but she added to it something of the charm 
of her sex, the alertness, vivacity and gracefulness of 
mind, which made her seem to those who knew her best 
almost like one of Shelley’s ethereal creations, a being 
compounded of fire and spirit. This ethereal quality, 
however, involved no instability, for with this lightness 
and grace went also great precision and justness, and a 
will power that was very pronounced in regard to con¬ 
duct as well as control of her faculties. Her rare com¬ 
mon-sense was also a saving quality in her intellectual 
brilliancy. She never surrendered her reason and could 
see in religion as well as in life what is essential, and 
what is extraneous or accidental or merely the creation 
of human superstition. Her spiritual perceptions were 
as clear as her intellectual, and she never doubted either 
the justice of God or the absolute love made manifest in 
the Redeemer of the world. I mention this because it is 
not always that so much humor and wit and gayety and 
intellectual keenness are accompanied by such high 
spiritual insight and real humility of spirit. 

Charles Dudley Warner. 


Vll 


















































































I 


WORLD MUSIC 

Jubilant the music through the fields a-ringing,— 
Carol, warble, whistle, pipe,— endless ways of singing; 
Oriole, bobolink, melody of thrushes, 

Rustling trees, hum of bees, sudden little hushes, 
Broken suddenly again,— 

Carol, whistle, rustle, humming, 

In reiterate refrain, 

Thither, hither, going, coming, 

While the streamlets’ softer voices mingle murmurously 
together; 

Gurgle, whisper, lapses, plashes,—praise of love and 
summer weather. 

Hark! A music finer on the air is blowing,— 

Throbs of infinite content, sounds of things a-growing, 
Secret sounds, flit of bird under leafy cover, 

Odors shy floating by, clouds blown swiftly over, 
Kisses of the crimson roses, 

Crossings of the lily-lances, 

Stirrings when a bud uncloses, 

Tripping sun and shadow dances, 

Murmur of aerial tides, stealthy zephyrs gliding, 

And a thousand nameless things sweeter for their hiding. 

I 


ffltorft iftttfiic 


Ah! a music more than these floweth on forever, 

In and out, yet all beyond our tracing or endeavor, 

Far tho’ clear, strange tho’ near, sweet with a pro¬ 
founder sweetness, 

Mystical, rhythmical, weaving all into completeness, 
For its wide, harmonious measures 
Not one earthly note let fall; 

Sorrows, raptures, pains and pleasures, 

All in it, and it in all. 

Of earth’s music the ennobler, of its discord the refiner, 
Pipe of Pan was once its naming, now it hath a name 
diviner. 


2 



II 


CHANGED 

Fair is the night, ay, fair and deep; 

The moonlight drowns the vale; 

My eyes are heavy, but not with sleep, 

And the night-moth droops her sail. 

There’s not so much as a sigh in the air; 

The stars are ghostly and few; 

And silver-pale are the meadows, where 
So coldly drops the dew. 

But the haunting shadows are never still, 

They wander all night alone, 

And the sleepless insects drone and shrill 
In a lonely monotone. 

Ah! long ago was a summer night 
Like this, and yet other far, 

For the moonlight flowed, and the air hung light, 
And happy was every star. 

The dew that night was a blissful balm, 

And seemed on the heart to fall; 

The calm was an overflowing calm, 

And love was the life of all. 


3 


C&aitjjefc 


Then piping choirs shrilled high, as now; 

But hushed is the sylvan flute 
Of the nightingale that dreamed on the bough, 
And a tenderer music is mute. 

’Tis the same save that, and yet all is strange, 
As the soul of the night were fled; 

Yes, I look and look, but can see no change, 
Except that my world is dead. 


4 



Ill 

IN THE DARK 

Restless, to-night, and ill at ease, 

And finding every place too strait, 

I leave the porch shut in with trees, 

And wander through the garden-gate. 

So dark at first, I have to feel 

My way before me with my hands; 

But soul-like fragrances reveal 

My virgin Daphne, where she stands. 

Her stars of blossom breathe aloft 
Her worship to the stars above; 

In wavering pulsations soft, 

Climbs the sweet incense of her love; 

Those far, celestial eyes can dart 

Their glances down through leafy bars; 

The spark that burns within her heart 
Was dropped, in answer, from the stars. 

5 


i 


3Tn tty Dark 


She does not find the space too small, 

The night too dark, for sweetest bloom ; 
Content within the garden wall, 

Since upward there is always room. 

Her spotless heart, through all the night, 
Holds safe its little vestal spark. 

O blessed, if the soul be white, 

To breathe and blossom in the dark! 


6 



IV 


UNFULFILLMENT 

Ah, June is here, but where is May ? — 

That lovely, shadowy thing, 

Fair promiser of fairer day, 

That made my fancy stretch her wing, 

In hope-begetting spring. 

The spaces vague, the luminous veil, 

The drift of bloom and scent, 

Those dreamy longings setting sail, 

That knew not, asked not, where they went,— 
Ah! was this all they meant,— 

This day that lets me dream no more, 

This bright, unshadowed round ? 

On some illimitable shore, 

The harbor whither those were bound 
Lieth, nor yet is found. 


7 


\ 


V 


OUT OF SEASON 

A strange thing happened down our way 
Last fall,— the apple trees put out 
Their pretty blossoms, just like May, 

And scattered all their pink about. 

It gave my tough old soul a start, 

Just as you’ve seen a warmish breeze 
Come loitering out of summer’s heart 
And rock and fan the gray old trees. 

And ’twasn’t but a day or two 
Before I got another shove, 

At hearing that old Samuel Drew 
Had gone and got at last in love. 

If the old wreck, down off the Cape, 

That years ago one night capsized, 

Had floated in, in gallant shape, 

I should not have been more surprised. 

But, dear me! if the apple-trees, 

When summer’s past, bloom out again 
And sweeten every passing breeze, 

Why, what can you expect of men ? 

8 


/ 


0ut of Reason 


A few late birds, up there above, 

Keep calling down, “ There’s hope for all, 
When gray old hearts grow green with love 
And fruit-trees blossom in the fall.” 

At any rate, one thing is plain: 

That it is quite worth while to wait, 

Since not to trees nor yet to men 

Does Heaven like to say, “ Too late.” 


9 



VI 


OUT OF THE OLD, THE NEW 

How strange that not in springtime fair, 

When gentle winds run to and fro; 

But, trembling in the frosty air, 

The New Year blossoms on the snow. 

That not in morning’s lovely bloom, 

With silver chimes and merry din, 

But slowly through the midnight gloom 
The great bell swings the New Year in. 

Ah, life in death! Ah, gain in loss! 

And smiles in eyes that tears bedew; 

Love, with its pain,— Heaven, through a cross,— 
’Tis ever thus our years grow new. 


io 


VII 


THE MOUNTAIN’S MEADOW 

Meadow lying far below me, 

Green between the silver birches, 

Does the little streamlet know thee, 

That thy verdure softly searches ? 

Ever where it listeth gliding, 

Idling through thy bright expanses ; 

Dark behind the alders hiding, 

In the noon’s delicious trances; 

Through the honeyed clover creeping, 
Drinking sweetness without measure; 

’Mid thy reedy grasses sleeping, 

Overfull of easy pleasure; 

Knowing all thy sunny spaces, 

All thy blossoms breathing sweetly, 

All thy cool and hidden places — 

Could it know thee more completely ? 

Ah! none ever won by dreaming 
Secret such as thine, fair meadow; 

But the mountains, heavenward gleaming, 
Touch and know thee with their shadow. 

IX 


C&e fKotmtam’fi JHeaioto 


They have soared into the wonder 
Of the noon with giant daring 
To the heat, the storm, the thunder, 
Each its mighty forehead baring. 

Now, that long endurance over, 

In their glorious leisure leaning 
Grandly down, they may discover 
Something of thy deepest meaning. 

Thou art coolness after burning; 

Thou art fullness after bareness; 
Sweet possession, after yearning; 

After storms, an open fairness. 

Thou art stillness after striving; 

Crowned rest, to high endeavor, 
After anguish, deep reviving; 

After death, the calm Forever. 


12 



VIII 


\ 


OUTSIDE 

Down the dark the snow is whirling, 
Driven blindly through the gloom; 
All its white 
Is lost to-night, 

As some unseen force were hurling, 
Sinking it to hidden doom. 

And the snow in vain, in vain, 

Flutters upward in its pain; 

It will fall to earth and stain. 

Impulse, flutter, wavering, fall, 

I, alas! have known them all; 
Dropped my little trembling light, 
Lost the lustre of my white, 

Find no longer rest or goal 
For my tired feet or soul, 

In a cloud of blind despair 
Turn as gladly here as there. 

In yon firelight, brightly gleaming, 
Little phantoms, rosy red, 

Turn and meet 
With dancing feet. 

Ah! the vision sets me dreaming, 

Till I wish that I were dead, 


I 3 


©tttetUe 


Of a child that years ago 
Danced within the heartsome glow, 

Light and pure as flake of snow; 

And this pictured shadow-dance 
Seems that childhood seen in trance. 
Dancers sweet! you look divine 
To these darkened eyes of mine, 

And I gaze upon you, even 
As an outcast into Heaven ; 

So will shadowy splendors fall 
Far outside the jasper wall. 

Hark! the vesper-bells are ringing 
In the minster’s solemn height. 

“ Come,” they say, 

“ O, come and pray! ” 

Through the great doors slowly swinging, 
’Twixt the darkness and the light, 

I can see the white-robed choir, 

And the candles’ chastened fire 
Up the arches pale aspire, 

And the sculptured angel stand, 

Holding out his stainless hand. 

Should I to the altar steal, 

Kneel where happy maidens kneel, 
Like that one with upturned face, 
Meeting Heaven’s descending grace, 
Hands crossed peaceful on her breast, 
In a calm of prayerful rest, 

Would her peace encircle me? 

Would her freedom set me free ? 

No, fair saint, the peace is thine, 

And the dark despair is mine. 


14 



©UtfiSttJC 


Ah! these souls in harbor lying, 
Anchored on a sheltered tide, 

Only know 
Life’s even flow; 

Little reck of storms wild flying, 

Or of waves that beat outside. 
Stainless hand but nerveless arm 
Cannot snatch a soul from harm, 

Or make hearts benumbed grow warm. 
Lord, thy purity is strong, 

Reaching to the cure of wrong: 
Search, yea, rend my heart and soul, 
If such sharpness can make whole; 
Or, if far too low I stand 
For the dealing of thy hand, 

Must I then be left outside ? 

O, my God! Thy heavens are wide! 
Send some angel, pure and fleet, 

Let him lift me to thy feet, 

There abased and dumb to kneel, 
Still contented, might I feel 
That, in some poor place apart, 

I was not outside thy heart. 
Something whispers to my fear, 

Can it be that thou art near ? 

Are thy feet here in the snow, 
Wounded for me long ago ? 

Let me clasp them, lying low. 

I have found the open door, 

And am left outside no more. 





IX 

MIDSUMMER 

The summer floats on even wing, 

Nor sails more far, nor draws more near, 

Poised calm between the budding spring 
And sweet decadence of the year. 

In shadowed fields the cattle stand, 

The dreaming river scarcely flows, 

The sky hangs cloudless o’er the land, 

And nothing comes and nothing goes. 

A pause of fullness set between 
The sowing and the reaping time; 

What is to be and what has been 

Joined each to each in perfect rhyme. 

So comes high noon ’twixt morn and eve, 
So comes full tide ’twixt ebb and flow, 

Or midnight ’twixt the day we leave 
And that new day to which we go. 

16 


Jttrtjfittmmer 


Full, fruitful hours by growing won, 

A restful space mid old and new 
When all there was to do is done 
And nothing yet there is to do. 

No days like these, so deeply blest, 
That look not backward nor before; 
Their large fulfillment, ample rest, 
Make life flow wider ever more. 



*7 



X 


ONCE UPON A TIME 

Once upon a time, life lay before me, 
Fresh as a story untold; 

Now so many years have traveled o’er me, 
I and my story are old. 

Once upon a time my locks fell flowing, 
Brown as yours and as bright; 

Now so many winters coming and going 
Have left them, you see, snow-white. 

Once upon a time I, too, had a lover, 
Gallant and full of grace; 

Now do you think, dear, you can discover 
Him in Grandpapa’s face ? 

Once upon a time I thought it living 
Only to draw my breath ; 

Now I’ve learned that it means a striving 
Sometimes even to death. 

Once upon a time I fell to weeping 
If but my wish was crossed; 

Now I can trust to a better keeping, 

Even if all seem lost. 


18 


0nce SHpoit a Ctmc 


Once upon a time it looked so dreary 
Ever to wait and rest; 

Now, at last, I’m a little weary, 

Resting awhile seems best,— 

Waiting awhile, till the great to-morrow 
Over the hilltops climb. 

Joy is forever. Thank God, dear, that sorrow 
Only is once upon a time. 


l 9 



XI 


THE CHILD’S STAR 

The Christmas night fell softly down, 

And closed the crimson West; 

And lighting on the snow-clad town 
Dropped peace upon its breast. 

A happy party, homeward bound, 

Drove down the lighted street; 

Their horses skimmed the ivory ground 
With swift and dainty feet. 

The tinkling sleigh-bells spurred their pace 
The downy furs were heaped; 

And from its nest a little face 
With winter roses peeped. 

The sparkling crescent in the sky 
Swung on its silver rim, 

And as the child flew quickly by 
It seemed to fly with him. 

“ O, see that pretty star! ” and thus 
His growing thought did come: 

“ Mamma, it’s going home with us — 

It’s going to its home! ” 


20 


Cfce Cfjttti’fi &tar 


Oh ! happy child, your words went far; 

Yes, farther than you guessed; 

And high upon the horned star 
You hung a fancy blest. 

Long, long ago some pilgrims had 
The thought that pleases you, 

And all the world to-night is glad 
Because the thought was true. 

And when, dear boy, your fancies sweet 
To certainties have grown, 

You’ll reach the star that leads your feet, 
Nor find the fancy flown. 


21 



XII 

THE YEAR’S COLORS 

Rosy, rosy, broke the year, 

Ruby red and ruby clear; 

Flushed carnation through the sky; 
Flamed its joys up zenith-high; 
Bloomed above the spotless snows, 
Opening, as a splendid rose 
In among the lilies blows. 

For the snow lay lily-pure 
And the snow lay marble-still; 

With a stainless heart, secure 
From the passion that would fill 
All the earth and all the sky. 

Red, red, red, it mantled high! 

Red, red, red, it drooped down low! 
But it could not stain the snow. 

Looking up the crimson height, 
Looking down to perfect white, 
Flame of sky and calm of snow 
Seemed to mingle in the glow. 


22 


Cl)e gear's Colors 


Kindling hopes and holy fire, 

All that draws our spirits higher, 

All to which our souls aspire, 
Chastened by a will serene, 

Fit for waiting, even long, 

And a heart all pure and clean, 
Angel-pure and angel-strong. 

Down the years, blest colors, shine, 
Of their glow and calm the sign; 
Promise of a far-off light, 

Warm with red and pure with white. 


t 


2 3 



XIII 


ABSENCE 

Through azure realms of loneliness 
Sails the hot sun: no cloudy fleet 
Convoys him o’er the trackless waste, 

Or cools his path with snowy sleep, 
Becalmed upon the tropic deep; 

Or scuds, by freshening breezes chased, 
Dropping swift shadows down to bless 
And make the sunlight doubly sweet. 

Earth’s upturned face is glad no more, 
Expressionless beneath the noon; 

The listless winds in covert lie, 

Nor hunt in lightsome companies 
Through whispering grain and sighing trees 
The sea sends inland no reply 
To the dumb yearning of the shore, 

But ebbs away in weary swoon. 

A bird in yonder thicket sings,— 

And if so be his song tells true, 

In miles and miles the only bird; 

For ne’er such plaintive monotone 
Of heart companionless and lone 
Was in a summer noontide heard; 

Tight folded are his useless wings, 

His mate is lost beyond the blue. 


24 


Absence 


Gone is the nameless charm that binds 
The outer world in kinship blest, 

The interchange, the light refrain; 

And ’twixt our souls, that once were near, 
Lie leagues of stirless atmosphere, 

Asleep upon a silent main: 

Nothing to-day its heart-mate finds, 

Nor any answer to its quest. 

One kiss of shadow or of air 

The world to lovelier life would stir; 

Or, might I clasp that distant hand, 

Then love would grace for me the whole: 
So light a touch on hand or soul, 

So light a touch on sea or land, 

Makes all things one and all things fair. 
Wake, wind! and blow a touch from her! 


2 5 



XIV 


PEACE AS A RIVER 

Why ask for joy’s tumultuous thrill, 
That suffers no increase ? 

Better the motions sure and still 
Of ever-deepening peace. 

Better to dwell with lowly things 
And with their growth to grow; 

To feel within those secret springs, 
That gather cool and slow. 

Born of such stillness, wells the brook, 
In leafy closet dim; 

Till the full silenqe of the nook 
O’erflows into a hymn. 

The little singer trips along 
In musical content; 

But ever gains a fuller song 
And learns its own intent. 

Gladly it spends its tuneful grace 
In hidden minstrelsy; 

Nor asks, as yet, a wider space, 

But just to sing and be. 



26 


Peace as a Hitier 


In simple service thrives its heart; 

It waters flowerets shy, 

It feels the spotted fishes dart, 

It mirrors bits of sky; 


Till, slipping down by hillside farms, 
Its ministries enlarge, 

And in the meadows circling arms 
It wins a broader marge. 


White lilies anchor on its breast, 
A boat glides softly through, 
And ever deeper grows its rest 
The more it has to do. 


For in its tasks it knows no haste, 
Nor lets the music cease; 

Too free to keep, too calm to waste, 
The largesse of its peace; 


But bears it on to outstretched lands 
Where thirsty cities wait; 

And then, at length, it understands 
The fulness of its fate. 

Proud ships upon its bosom ride, 

It throbs with busy oars; 

It grows more nobly satisfied, 
Between its widening shores; 


2 7 



Peace as a Kfoer 


It gathers strength and majesty, 

Yet flows with rhythmic ease; 

And the great gladness of the sea 
Completes its garnered peace. 

Better ? dear Peace, thou art the best! 

For where thou hast thy home, 

Full grows the service, deep the rest, 
And Joy herself shall come! 


28 



XV 


THE PILGRIM’S REVERY 

The waning moon shines pale and still; 
The winds in russet branches die; 

Day faints upon the darkening hill, 

And melts into the days gone by. 

The vanished days! now dim and far, 

Yet none so dead they cannot wake 

And stir in me, as yon high star 
Quivers, deep-visioned, in the lake. 

They glimmer down the moon’s long beam, 
They rustle in the russet tree; 

They fade in twilight’s melting dream, 

And slide in starlight down to me. 

I feel the hush of brooding wings, 

The warmth of tender joys far flown, 

And little flights and flutterings 

Of blessings that were once my own. 

But O, most sweet, and O, most sad, 

Of all these lost delights that thrill! — 

The blessings that I almost had, 

But life can never more fulfill. 


2 9 


iEj)c Pilgrim's; Beberp 


And yet ’tis strange, but these are more 
My own, to-night, than all beside,— 
Glad stars upon a distant shore, 

That draw my sails across the tide. 

Fade, golden evenings, fade and sink! 

Burn, crimson leaves, burn out and fall! 
For life is other than we think, 

And death the surest life of all. 


3 ° 



XVI 


TWILIGHT 

Aweary, vague and glimmering lies the land, 
Where Twilight, like a nun in vesture gray, 

Comes with a flickering taper in her hand, 

Whose pale and spiritual ray 
Lights face and breast. 

Fainter and fainter grows the upward light, 

And deeper creeps the darkness round her feet, 

While all across the world she leads the night, 
And shuts the day that was so sweet 
Behind the west. 

Alas! for she has left me in the arms 
Of night, who holds me in a prison cell : 

Begirt with dark and shadowy alarms, 

I pray for light, whose sword can fell 
These phantom foes! 

At last there come faint shinings through the veil, 
As if behind it had been bom a star; 

The dead horizon grows a circlet pale, 

And out beyond the world more far 
Blossoms a rose. 


3 1 


CtutltffJjt 


Tis twilight, with the rose upon her cheek, 

In veil and clear adornments of a bride; 

Her happy eyes the happy tidings speak, 

She throws the portals open wide, 

And lo! the sun! 

When dark-winged grief o’ershadows me with night 
Shall not my soul with hope the day await ? 

For that which brought the darkness brings the light, 
And opens the eternal gate 
Toward which I run. 


3 2 



XVII 


THE RIFT OF GOLD 

Dark clouds the heavenly blue infold, 
But on the sunset rifted lie, 

And frame, with rim of shining gold, 

A width of open sky. 

It hangs, an outlook calm and blest; 

A broad, unhindered upward way, 

To warmer realms and lands of rest, 
Mid waveless floods of day. 

We reach far out beyond the rift, 

And long to follow or to hold; 

But eastward whirls the ceaseless drift, 
To depths of night and cold. 

Yet souls fly out and up, so far, 

They have no need of earthly light, 

Or flame of heaven-enkindled star, 

To solace darkest night. 

Past sun and stars; in deeps behind 
These trailing clouds and lower cold, 

May he who looks forever find 
The open rift of gold. 


33 


XVIII 


NEW YEAR’S EVE 

How old our planet looks to-night, 

The hoary landscape blind and bare, 
The heavy labor of the air, 

The dying breath, the dying light! 

What if the year were really new, 

And this time-weary world of ours, 

Made freshly fair as Eden’s bowers, 
Were newly launched upon the blue ? 

What if this wayworn human race, 

Clean from its sweat, its dust and grime, 
Might cool its steps in morning-prime 
And feel the dawn upon its face ? 

And what if I among the rest, 

New-waking on a sunrise shore, 

Might see the opening day before, 

With life unblossomed in my breast ? 

Ah! it were but an empty boon 
Unless the new arise within; 

Since all renewals that begin 
Outside the heart grow old so soon. 


34 


JBeto gear’s 0be 


Forever old is he and blind, 

Whose feet pass through some open door 
That leads to newer days before, 

Yet leave his laggard soul behind. 

Oh ! rather may the soul come, too, 

When life through gates of change is drawn. 
If that but feel the touch of dawn, 

Then will the year be really new ! 


35 



XIX 

MARGARET 

i 

Through the fields with morning wet, 
Gaily wandered Margaret, 

Not a shadow darkening yet 
Eyes new-filled with violet; 

Just a blithesome lass, 

Light of heart and light of tread, 
Following where the pathway led, 
Spinning out its little thread 
In the meadow-grass. 

As she lightly tripped along, 

Humming to herself a song 
From a heart unstung by wrong— 
Gossamer fancies free to throng 
Through her cloudless breast— 
Troops of daisies, left and right, 
Answering back her fresh delight, 
Closer swung their fringes white 
Around their rosy guest. 

3 6 


iflargarct 


She plucked one idly as she went; 
And half for jest, and half intent, 
All her simple lore she spent, 
Trying what her fortune meant 
On its snowy ring; 

With the charm each maiden tries, 
Ever with a new surprise, 

Listening to those soft replies 
That the daisies bring. 


First, he loves me, whispered low ; 
Then, he loves me not , and so 
Back and forth, and to and fro, 
All around the milk-white row, 
The fairy wheel of fate. 

Wide the airy leaflets blew, 

While her fingers swiftly flew, 
Raveling out the slender clew 
To her heart’s estate. 


Ending thus the little spell, 

On he loves me not it fell: 

But merry as a marriage-bell 
Rang her voice: “ Dear flower, pray tell, 
Why so cruel art ? ” 

Careless fancies lightly blow, 

Spread their wings, and come and go, 
When the door stands open so, 

In the happy heart. 


37 



^Harprct 


ii 

Twelve long months the year swung round, 
All its little buds unbound 
Sleeping in the meadow-ground, 

AH its pretty blossoms found 
Sweetly fresh and true. 

Bright was the bloom on hill and dale, 

But Margaret’s lovely bloom was pale, 

And ’neath her eyelid’s drooping veil 
Were clouds upon the blue. 


A secret thorn within the breast 
Closer to her heart she prest; 

And moods of longing and unrest 
Drew to the fields all newly drest 
Her half-reluctant feet. 

But oh, the soul of all was slain! 

And hers was pain’s exceeding pain,— 
To see the outer charm remain, 

And mock what once was sweet. 


The grain was rippling broad and free, 
Singing there was on every tree, 
Perfumes there were on every lea, 

And life was warm and brave, but she 
Felt like a wayside stone. 

The joy of birds, the brook that purled, 
The tender balm the year unfurled, 

All the song and breath of the world 
Left her the more alone. 


38 



iHar^arct 


She let the summer bloom drift by, 

But on the path her downcast eye 
Saw a daisy withering lie, 

As it too were fain to die,— 

Nay, the flower was dead! 

“ Would that all dying were as brief,” 

She sighed, in weariness of grief, 

And slowly sundering leaf from leaf, 

The little charm she said. 

Alas! alas! the ghostly spell! 

Still on he loves me not it fell! 

She dropped the flower in dumb farewell; 
For some dead joy, she might not tell, 
Lay hushed within her heart. 

Ah ! what can idle fancies do, 

When once the door is fastened to, 

But fold the wings that lightly flew, 

And nevermore depart! 


39 



XX 

WITHOUT A WORD 

In the light keeping of the air, 

Trembles a secret all things tell; 

The very wind that lifts your hair 
In lands of heat hath learned it well, 
Whispers it soft against your cheek, 
Breathes it in passion-laden sigh, 

So warm, so nigh, 

It has no need a word to speak. 

With fluttering hearts the birds outpour 
The open secret all day long; 

Now they confess and now implore, 

In the strange mystery of song, 

Which seems to utter everything, 

Yet leaves the sweetest things inferred, 
Without a word. 

O birds! no wonder that you sing! 


40 


GMtt&out a GMorto 


And even the silence of earth’s breast 
Tells it in language still and fine; 

And grown too full to be supprest, 
Reaches these flowers up for a sign. 

O, for some perfect sign to tell 

What words too rudely might declare ! 

Some voice of air, 

Soft as the whisper of the shell! 

Yet the dumb heart can tell thee more: 

It speaks to thee with every beat; 

And what it urges o’er and o’er, 

Words were less daring to entreat. 

Yes, when that speaks, is all avowed; 

All that I bade my lips conceal, 

That will reveal 

Without a word, and speak it loud ! 


4i 



XXI 


IN DISGUISE 

Your face possessed me while we talked; 

It seemed the picture of a heart 
In whose fair garden Sorrow walked, 
While Joy, poor errant, stood apart, 

A suppliant at the gate. 

You do not dream that she is near, 

So still she waiteth and so shy. 

You are not thinking of her, dear; 

Almost you have forgot to sigh 
She comes no more of late. 

I know, I know, she longs to come, 

And lift the latch with quick surprise; 
And yet she standeth strange and dumb, 
And looks, behind that still disguise, 

As one you never knew. 

But if she came with smile and dance, 
With banners flying, music gay, 

Oh, would you run with answering glance, 
Or only turn your head away 
From what was not for you ? 


42 


3Tn EHssttise 


I understand; you need not speak: 

The heart that is for Sorrow strong, 

For Joy too joyful were too weak; 

She must not come with dance and song, 
But lightly as a dove. 

’Tis thus she comes, and makes no claim; 

She whispers soft, she kneeleth low, 

And wears the while a gentler name. 

Oh, hear me breathe it! Must she go ? 
The name she wears is Love. 


43 



XXII 


THE GAIN OF LOSS 

I know a heart that sits upon its throne, 

Yet makes its kingdom poorer day by day; 

A queen unblest, in that it blesses none, 

And far too poor to give itself away. 

And one I know hath all its sweetness given, 

A flower left empty by the thankless air, 

Yet in the losing finds its only heaven, 

Fed by the fountains of divine repair. 

Who then shall weigh our wealth against our dearth ? 
Where is the justice fine of sight and touch ? 

So light the things we dream have dearest worth, 

And those we hold for nothings worth so much. 

How shall I dare, then, for this joy to pray, 

Lest when it come it prove a grievous loss ? 

Or how implore that grief may pass away, 

Lest thus I spurn a flower-bearing cross ? 


44 


v 


®atn of Lose 


O, blessed tears, that cleanse the eyes for morn! 

O, costly gains, wherein our all we lose! 

O, rose of peace, so white with many a thorn! 

Choose thou, my heart, be strong at last, and choose. 

Not yet, not yet! I cannot ask for pain, 

'And dare not ask the joy that blindeth me; 

I cannot choose; my Father, I would fain 
Ask thee for that which looks like joy to thee. 


45 



XXIII 


THE NEW DAY 

Silent has been the night, and O, so long! 

With weary moon forever sailing west; 

Save that a bird at midnight trilled a song, 

A dream of daylight, from his moonlit nest. 

The hills lay couched in slumber, range on range, 
The earth was floating in a silver web,— 

That mystery of calm before a change, 

That lull of waters at the lowest ebb. 

Some drowsy notes were all the bird could sing, 

Soft as the scattered drops of summer dew; 

Then, hushed within the quiet of his wing, 

He sang no more; but now the dream comes true. 

A thrill runs through the spaces of the night, 

And flutters on the wavy eastern line; 

Beyond the stars dilates a distant light, 

The luminous outflow of a day divine. 

With slow approach it deepens into bloom, 

Faint jasmine yellow, with a flush of rose; 

And, brightening till it makes the stars a gloom, 

O’er all the long uncertainty it flows. 

46 


iZHie l^eto iiDap 


What though the perfect day is yet unborn! 

Sweet were the carolled vision of the bird; 

Glad are the tidal colors of the mom, 

And heaven is pledged without a single word. 

The waves of light are breaking on the shore, 
Pulsing in cadence to a mightier flow— 

The strong uplift of nobler hopes before, 

The great new future rising in the glow. 

Above the hills surges the day at last, 

The longed-for day, effulgent, high and wide. 
Turn, turn, gray earth, and leave the darkened past, 
And swing thyself upon the incoming tide ! 


47 



XXIV 


TWO IN ONE 

i 

VESPER 

Vanishing sun, delay, delay, 

Linger a little over the past, 

Sing, sleepy birds, keep back the day 
From whiling away so fast. 

Vesper bell ringing slow and sweet, 

Ring me the story of days that die; 

Soon shalt thou peal more loud and fleet 
The bliss of a day drawn nigh. 

Can there be two hearts in my breast ?— 
One that fast to the old bough clings, 

One that flies to the new-made nest 
And folds its fluttering wings ? 

Could not life stand still where it is ? 

Would that, indeed, I had hearts for two! 

But O, if I had, they would both be his, 

So what, my heart, can you do ? 

48 


&too tn ©ne 


ii 

REVEILLE 

The stars have all winked themselves out, 

And the moon has slipped under the hill; 

A swift little wind rushes gaily about, 

And will not leave anything still; 

And my heart and my pulses all beat, 

In time to the throb of the drum, 

That calls me quick leaping once more to my feet, 

For the jubilant morning has come! 

It is for my dawn that I care,— 

O, not for the day-dawn alone! 

Rise, rise, happy sun, for the day must be fair, 

That makes her forever my own. 

The moon will come up from the hill, 

And the stars will all gaze as they shine, 

And the winds will all hush, and my heart will stand still, 
When she whispers her vow to be mine. 


49 



XXV 


THE NIGHT BLOSSOM 

While the twilight deepens on garden walk and bed, 
The flower is slow unfurling its sails of snowy white; 
Freighted with odors, lightly moored by a crimson thread, 
Swaying and floating on the rising tide of night. 

In the twilight’s soft glimmer 
With a tremulous shimmer 
Swinging to and fro, it shines ethereally bright. 

Why then, O, thou sweeter flower, virgin white and fair, 
Deep within thy stainless breast dost fold thyself away ? 
Is it that thy tender soul unveiling cannot bear, 

In its pure seclusion feels the sweetness of delay ? 

In the twilight half hidden 
Let me gaze unforbidden; 

Shine upon me, lily-heart, by evening’s silver ray! 

Close those searching eyes, bright stars! Moon more 
softly shine! 

While my vestal flower lets all her sacred sweetness 
flow, 

To my reverent heart unveils her spirit’s radiant shrine; 
Pure within as fair without, its inmost depths are snow. 
Far Heaven of holy brightness! 

Conform me to her whiteness, 

Lest my soul beside her soul too dark and stained 
should show. 

5 ° 


v 


XXVI 


A MAY SONG 

Weave high, weave low 
Thy veil of blossom-snow, 

Yet think not so to blind me, gentle May; 

Too idly sweet thy wandering breezes blow — 
Oh ! much I fear, dear May, 

Thou wilt not stay. 

I’ve known, ere now, 

A fairer one than thou, 

Sweeter than winds that ’mid the violets stray: 
My heart was like a nest on flowering bough — 
Too like, for neither spray 
Nor bird would stay. 

Before I knew, 

The bough was broken in two, 

The blossoms withered and bird flew away: 
Since then I clasp no hope that is not true 
And strong enough alway 
With me to stay. 

No longer clings 
My heart to dreamful things 
That breathe and perish in a blossom’s day, 
That sing a song or two, then spread their wings. 
Oh! well I know, sweet May, 

Thou wilt not stay. 


5 1 


XXVII 


HOMEWARD 

A gallop through the mountain way, 

With click, click, click, against the flint,— 
Hard following on the flying day, 

That backward flings a fiery tint. 

The twilight pines stand dense and grim, 
And sigh and sigh, “ The day is dead; ” 
The virgin birches, tall and slim, 

Wave shadowy arms across the red. 

In brooding peace the uplands lie, 

Stretched dimly in their evening rest; 

As through their lifted calm I fly, 

On, onward, to the happy West. 

Oh West, heart-red, burn close before! 

Pale, dreamy East, float far behind! 

No pause, good steed,—a few miles more, 
In yonder glow our rest we find. 

Urgent, we reach the downward hill, 

The village darkens far below,— 

Has aught befallen her of ill ? 

My eager heart leaps down to know. 


52 


|)ometoart 


A swift descent along the ridge, 

Through shady glooms and breaks of light; 

A cheery clatter on the bridge, 

Then up the street where falls the night. 

Across the dark a hearth-fire’s gleam, 

A graceful shadow on the wall; 

’Twas false, thank God, that last night’s dream, 
That something evil did befall. 

From out the door a ruddier shine 

Meets vanished daylight’s golden trace, 

And starry eyes turned up to mine,— 

One light in heaven and home and face! 


i 


53 



XXVIII 


SPRING IN THE HEART 

Glad hopes fly down into my waiting heart 
From yonder world of blue, 

That lets them through; 

They come as straight and swift as winged dart, 
But soft and light, I trow, 

As bird on bough. 

Times there have been when I have all day long 
Gazed wearily aloft 
For pinion soft; 

Nor caught as much as distant note of song, 

Or plume dropped on my hand, 

From that far land. 

But now the air is gentle with their flight, 

While on soft-sailing wing 
Glad news they bring; 

And some fly low, and on my heart alight, 

And weave a little nest 
Within my breast. 

It is a simple little song they sing; 

But, such as it may be, 

’Tis sweet to me,— 

A song of life renewed and blossoming, 

Full waters, pastures green, 

And days serene. 


54 


Spring tit tfce |)fart 


So it must be they find some verdure here, 

Some little branch abloom, 

Some brooding room, 

Where I had said that all were bare and sere; 

Or is it that they see 
Where bloom shall be ? 

For, best of all, they make themselves a place 
With spreading of their wings, 

The heaven-born things! 

Enlarge the heart with motions of their grace, 
And waken blossoms there 
With tuneful air. 

I must not hold them fast, that well I know; 

But stretch out wide and free, 

Like some green tree. 

Fresh tidings bring they when they come and go, 
And other wing&d guests 
To build new nests. 

Go, fly then, little singers, as you will, 

And sing your simple song 
All roads along; 

Light on some wayworn hearts and make them thrill 
So softly, it shall seem 
Their inmost dream. 


55 



XXIX 


JUNE 

Now the over world the under 
Clasps in its embrace, 

And the twain so long asunder 
Closely interlace. 

Now the sunlight and the shadow 
Keep an endless tryst; 

Now the sky the upspringing meadow 
Hath o’erleaned and kissed. 

To the barren bough the flower 
Fair and graceful clings; 

And the long-deserted bower 
Feels the stir of wings. 

Heart of noon and breath of coolness 
Mingle into one; 

All the longing springs with fullness 
Softly overrun. 

Hopes outworn with flight incessant 
Now o’ertake their quest; 

To the weary past the present 
Gives its perfect rest. 

Only one thing mars the vision,— 

It must vanish soon; 

Faint foreshadow of fruition, 

Fair and fleeting June! 

56 


XXX 

I AUTUMN VOICES 

i 

THE LITTLE MAID’S SONG 

O happy, happy, shining day ! 

The time to dance and sing and play ! 
I wish I only knew 

Why all the clouds have gone to sleep, 
And lie, like flocks of lazy sheep, 

Far up there on the blue. 


The aster must be glad that nods 
So cheery to the golden-rods,— 
Wide open is its eye; 

And happy is the scarlet vine, 

That runs along the dark green pine, 
As if to reach the sky. 


57 


Autumn Woueg 


This afternoon, down at the brook, 

A bright-eyed squirrel stopped and took 
A dozen little drinks; 

Some nuts were lying at my feet, 

He looked as if he thought them sweet, 
And gave some knowing winks. 


Just then a little leaf quite brown 
Into the brook came rustling down, 
And sailed off like a ship; 

The squirrel gave his tail a whisk, 
Then made a funny sideways frisk, 
And left me with a skip. 


There’s red and yellow, green and pink, 
And purple too,— it makes me think 
Of Joseph’s little coat; 

The wood is in a rainbow drest; 

The hills are like a robin’s breast, 

Or like my pigeon’s throat. 


Such pretty colors everywhere ! 

Such pleasant feelings in the air ! 

I’m glad as glad can be. 

Here, Rover, come, let’s take a run, 
And catch a good-night from the sun 
Behind the maple tree. 

58 



Autumn Dotces 


ii 

LATE DAYS 

How sweetly dies the year, 

Serenely lapsing to its last repose! 

It flamed with joy when first the end drew near; 
Now hushed it sinks into its golden close, 

As hearth-fires burning low 
Lie still and glow. 

I hear our little maid 

Sing through the rustling leaves her cheery song. 

Her spring-time voice rings out so unafraid, 

So like to one that has been silent long, 

I shut my eyes to see 
If it can be. 

The past looks all a dream : 

I doubt my joys, and oh! I doubt my grief! 

The shadow mingles strangely with the gleam, 
And all drops from me like a withered leaf 
Blown by celestial wind 
Far, far behind. 

Now there remains a rest; 

And, warmly wrapped within this filmy haze, 

That spreads its yellow net across the west, 

Upon the sweet receding year I gaze 
And feel the tender peace 
Of days that cease. 


59 



&utttmn IDotcea 


Slowly the colors burn : 

Their glowing hearts must fall to ashen brown, 
And flicker out and into shadows turn; 

But then the gentle snow will flutter down, 

A soft, white sleep will fall, 

And cover all— 

That long, long, quiet sleep 
That falls upon all death from out the sky. 
Heaven tenderly our fallen leaves will keep; 
They do not die, they only seem to die. 

So pray I it may be 
With me, with me. 


60 



XXXI 


THE YEAR’S GOAL 

Rest thee awhile to-night, my soul, 

Turn from the dusty road aside, 

Nor think to look beyond the goal 
Where dim to-morrows hide. 

Sweet is this wayside resting-place 
Upon the margin of the year; 

Avail thee, then, of pilgrim grace 
And rest a little here. 

Lay down thy burden and thy staff, 

Breathe deep and free thee of the past, 

Stoop to the springs of time and quaff 
These moments while they last. 

Feel the fresh wind that comes from yon, 
Blown from a neighboring land unknown; 

Yet haste thee not, but wait upon 
A morrow not thine own. 

Thank God he gives no endless way, 

But lays his hand across the road, 

Calls many a halt, and bids thee stay 
And rest thee of thy load. 


61 


€f)e gear's ®oal 


He is too full of grace to deal 
A breathless road that never swerves; 

But all things turn and pause and wheel, 

In restful, joyful curves. 

Days end and turn where nights begin; 

The months whirl round through snow and 
glow, 

And lay their lesser rings within 
The year’s encircling flow. 

And through these phases manifold, 

Round its glad circuit wings the year; 

And links the old, the new, the old, 

Within its clasping sphere. 

And half we feel the sweep of time 
Catch up the years and hurry by; 

But thought falls back, too faint to climb 
The circles of the sky. 

Dream, if thou wilt, of outmost reach, 

The motion of sublimer rounds, 

The flight of hopes surpassing speech 
And life that knows no bounds; 

But ’mid these orbits dim and great, 

Lose not, my soul, the year’s embrace, 

Its closeness to thy low estate, 

Its needful resting-place. 


62 



XXXII 


THE WATCHER’S CAROL 

High and low, to and fro, 

Suddenly the bells are ringing, 
Sweetest news to mortals bringing. 

Though no other sign may show 
That the blessed mom doth break, 
Wake! Wake! 

For Jesus’ sake. 

Far or near, soft or clear, 

Come no strains of heavenly story, 
Mighty choirs in beams of glory 
Singing songs of holy cheer. 

Yet the blessed morn doth break; 
Wake! Wake! 

For Jesus’ sake. 

Not a star, near or far, 

Shows the way in golden traces. 
All the stars are in their places, 

Very high and still they are. 

Yet the blessed morn doth break; 
Wake! Wake! 

For Jesus’ sake. 

63 


✓ 


QLf)t SHtatr&er'fli Carol 


Child, divine! Thyself the sign! 

Other signs we do surrender; 

Thou, our star of heavenly splendor, 
Provest all when thou dost shine! 
Wake! The blessed morn doth break; 
Wake! Wake! 

For Jesus’ sake! 


64 



XXXIII 


FROM MORN TO EVE 
a child’s hymn 

The dawning light puts out the night, 

The day arises fair and bright: 

Awake, my heart, his praises sing 

Who doth the morning freshness bring. 

Awake, my heart! Awake, my heart! 

Praise him for life and light. 

In work and play, the happy day 
Climbs swiftly up its shining way: 

Then lift, my heart, thy noonday song, 
Praise him who makes the day so strong. 

Rejoice, my heart! Rejoice, my heart! 

Praise him for light and might. 

But when the sun his race has run, 

And all thy work and play is done, 

And stars shine down upon thy nest, 

Sing softly then within my breast, 

Lie low, my heart! Lie low, my heart! 

Praise him for night and rest. 


65 


XXXIV 


THE SHADOW 

The village churchyard lay in the light 
Of the moon that softly shed, 

Down from the far mid-heaven of night, 

Her silver noon on the dead. 

The elm trees hung their branches down, 
Heavy with night and sleep; 

The lights were out in the little town 
And eyes had forgot to weep. 

I stood in a dream, like one upcast 
On some long-remembered shore; 

And there in the moonlight lay my past 
And all I had wept of yore. 

But alas! it was all more strangely far 
Than in thought it had ever been; 

And that grave seemed nearer to yonder star 
Than to me, and more akin. 

And alas! alas! I had lost my tears, 

And my heart began to know 

How relentless are the effacing years, 

How soon it is long ago. 

66 


Cfce &Moto 


I could not weep, and I could not pray, 

Till the shadow behind the stone 
Began to lengthen away, away, 

Seeking the far unknown. 

On the grave it laid, and upon my thought, 
The touch of eternity; 

It brought what nothing before had brought, 
A thrill and my tears to me. 


67 



XXXV 


HIDDEN JOY 

Through leafy by-paths, sheltered and apart, 

Whistling the carol of a careless heart, 

In idle gladness strolled a truant boy. 

Up in a tree-top swayed a little bird, 

And sang and sang, nor cared if any heard 
His solitary roundelay of joy. 

A brook flowed through the silence of a wood; 

Some gorgeous flowers upon its margin stood, 
And waved their scarlet banners of delight. 

From midnight’s dusky blue shone out a star, 

And through the darkness trailed its splendor far, 
Though all the world was buried in the night. 

Joy asks no seeing eye, nor listening ear; 

But carols, blooms and shines when none is near, 
Only because it feels so fully blest. 

The mated bird flies not on open wing, 

But sings from out the bough, and so I sing 
The happy secret hidden in my breast. 


68 


XXXVI 


RELENTING 

The earth is in a melting mood 
This morning of the year; 

And clasped around by mists that brood, 

She smiles to find herself so wooed, 
With, now and then, a tear. 

The topmost fastness of the hill 
Has let the winter go; 

The happy-hearted little rill 

No longer shivers past the mill 
To meadows hushed with snow. 

The birds let fall their new-born dreams 
Upon me from above; 

And many a shadow wed with beams, 

And many a wind-kissed blossom seems 
To say a word for love. 

What is there in this tender air 
To thrill me like a dart ? 

It quickens places poor and bare, 

And every covert sweet and fair, 

Except one maiden’s heart. 

69 


Helenttncr 


O, are such changeful gleams of light 
Made only to beguile ? 

Then, I am but a foolish wight 
To be so glad because, last night, 

She blessed me with a smile. 

But O, when ice and snow relent, 

And every coldest thing; 

Might not, perchance, one more repent, 
And melting into warm consent, 

Flood all my heart with Spring ? 


70 



XXXVII 


TWO SONGS 

[From ^he German of Heinrich Heine] 
I 

My heart, my heart is heavy, 

But gayly glances the May; 

I stand and lean on the linden, 

High up on the bastion gray. 

The city’s moat below me 

Flows still and blue as the sky; 

A boy on its sleepy current, 

Goes fishing and whistling by. 

On the smiling landscape yonder, 

In fairy and motley array, 

Are oxen and meadow and woodland 
And gardens and children at play. 

The maidens, at their bleaching, 

On the greensward go and come; 

The mill-wheel scatters jewels, 

I hear its distant hum. 

Up on the old gray tower 
A sentry-box shows brown; 

A tall red-coated fellow 

Goes marching up and down. 


7 1 


Ctoo Ikonp 


He trifles with his musket, 

That shines in the sunlight red; 

He presents it and he shoulders,— 
I wish he would shoot me dead! 

ii 

They have, indeed, tormented 
And maddened me with fate; 

Some with their love have done it, 
And others with their hate. 

With wine they’ve mingled poison, 
And with the bread I ate; 

Some with their love have done it, 
And others with their hate. 

But she, who more than any 
Can torture, wound, and move, 

Is she that does not hate me, 

And yet that does not love. 


7 2 



XXXVIII 

THE CHRISTMAS DOOR 

All the year long the moon gives light, 
And makes a silver day of night; 

But once a year 
She seems more near,— 

Shows every night her steadfast face, 

And fills the sky with tranquil grace. 

’Tis hard to tell when day is done, 

For day and night flow into one. 

So Heaven shines downward all the while, 
And lights us with its constant smile; 

But once a year 
It draws more near: 

Wide open stands the shining door, 

With gleams of light unseen before; 

And all across flash glimpses fleet 
Of upper joys and radiant feet. 


73 


C&e C&mtmaes £)oor 


’Tis ever so since love broke through, 
And down the widening spaces flew; 
That blessed year 
Our Lord came near: 

For him swung back the starry bound; 
Deepened far up the great profound; 
All Heaven swept outward at his birth, 
And naught was narrow but the earth! 

Now evermore he stands and waits 
Some lifting of these lower gates; 

But once a year 
He waits more near: 

Shall the blest door be thrown so wide, 
And only we the entrance hide ? 

Unbar our hearts, make room within, 
And let the holy Christmas in! 


74 



/ 


XXXIX 

HORIZONS 

My heart gives thanks for yonder hill 
That makes this valley safe and still; 

That shuts from sight my onward way, 

And sets a limit to my day; 

That keeps my thoughts, so tired and weak, 
From seeking what they should not seek. 
On that fair bound across the west, 

My eyes find pasturage and rest, 

And of its dewy stillness drink, 

As do the stars upon its brink; 

It shields me from the day to come, 

And makes the present hour my home. 

Deeper will be my rest to-night 
For this near calmness of the height; 

Its steadfast boundary will keep 
My harbored spirit while I sleep; 

Yet somewhere on its wooded sides 
To-morrow’s onward pathway hides, 

And I shall wake at early morn 
To find a world beyond, new-born. 


75 






{Jordons 


I thank thee, Lord, that thou dost lay 
These near horizons on my way. 

If I could all my journey see, 

There were no charm of mystery, 

No veiled grief, no changes sweet, 

No restful sense of tasks complete. 

I thank thee for the hills, the night, 

For every barrier to my sight; 

For every turn that blinds my eyes 
To coming pain or glad surprise; 

For every bound thou settest nigh 
To make me look more near, more high; 
For mysteries too great to know; 

For every thing thou dost not show. 
Upon thy limits rests my heart; 

Its safe horizon, Lord, thou art. 


76 



XL 


THE GOLDEN PRIME 

“—the golden prime of this sweet prince.” 

Never so fair a May was seen, 

Never an evening half so fair; 

Then first I knew what Maytimes mean, 
First deeply breathed the vernal air, 

First looked through Nature’s sylvan screen, 

And saw herself in robe of green. 

The breathing dusk, the dreaming sky, 

Were with a thousand meanings fraught; 

But all my thoughts were scented by 
The sweetness of a single thought. 

Wide flew my heart, yet circled nigh, 

As happy swallows wheel and fly. 

The world, for me, was newly made, 

And given unto my heart for food; 

And scent and blossom, bud and blade, 
Were in its waking understood. 

All things the inward mood obeyed, 

For life its spell upon them laid. 


77 


C|)e (55oUien prime 


Behind the budding sycamore 

I saw the new moon’s golden boat, 

Without a sail, without an oar, 

Adown the leafy lattice float, 

And touch the ether’s rosy shore. 

Never was moon so new before. 

Nor far, Love’s star looked trembling through, 
As if but then it learned to shine; 

And Love’s first smiles shone heavenly true, 
They were so newly, freshly mine. 

And in that hour my soul outgrew 
Itself, and found itself anew. 


78 



XLI 


DELAY 

Taste the sweetness of delaying, 

Till the hour shall come for saying 
That I love you with my soul: 

Have you never thought your heart 
Finds a something in the part, 

It would miss from out the whole ? 

In this rosebud you have given, 

Sleeps that perfect rose of heaven 
That in Fancy’s garden blows: 

Wake it not by touch or sound, 

Lest perchance ’twere lost, not found, 

In the opening of the rose. 

Dear to me is this reflection, 

Of a fair and far perfection, 

Shining through a veil undrawn: 

Ask no question then of fate; 

Yet a little longer wait 

In the beauty of the dawn. 

Through our mornings, veiled and tender, 
Shines a day of golden splendor, 

Never yet fulfilled by day: 

Ah! if love be made complete, 

Will it, can it, be so sweet 

As this ever sweet delay ? 


« 


79 


XLII 


A SURMISE 

Our mortal day breaks from the great unseen. 

Whither once more it darkly vanisheth; 

Two shadowy goals with faltering steps between,— 

O, tell me, which is life, and which is death ? 

• 

Nor is this but an idle questioning; 

At every step we cross some dark surprise, 

For life and death are what the moments bring, 

And we must know them through their strange 
disguise. 

Joys we shall have that blossomed in the shade, 

And griefs that out of sweetest dreams awoke; 
Doubts that grow clear, and certainties that fade; 

A weary crown, a light and easy yoke. 

Wrongs we shall see made servants of the right; 

The noblest victories won by those that fail; 

Great hearts that triumph, falling in the fight; — 
Death hand to hand with life, behind the veil! 

Thus evermore we must our pathway thread, 

’Mid lights that beckon, shadows that dismay; 

Till the bewildered heart, so strangely led, 

Wonders if life or death shall win the day, 

§9 


& Surmise 


As one might wonder, waking from a swoon, 

And seeing the far horizon half alight,— 

Is it the morning broadening to the noon ? 

Or is it evening sinking into night ? 

Or as one standing on the silent shore 
If it be ebb or flow can scarcely guess; 

Whether the lesser flowing to the more, 

Or but the greater lapsing to the less. 

O shrouded mystery! the baffled soul, 

Long coasting round thy solemn boundaries, 
Divines the rounded brightness of the whole, 

That first must wane upon these mortal skies. 

The tide, when it lays bare the lonely strand, 

But lifts more high the great mid-depths of sea: 
Does death work life ? Does losing fill the hand ? 
Does darkness feed the light that is to be ? 

O, then it is no longer life and death, 

But life and life, in ever-circling light! 

Then ebb and flow of fortune or of breath 
Are equal tides that lift us to our height! 


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